


yes I have come to see you hanging

by thesecondsmile



Series: slack your rope, hangman [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Courtroom Drama, Dehumanization, Descriptions of Torture and Violence, Gen, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Social Commentary, Unreliable Narrator, Winter Soldier Trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29220663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondsmile/pseuds/thesecondsmile
Summary: “This will be the trial of the century, and will capture the true spirit of America’s criminal justice system.  Everyone will be looking at the man once known as Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, to see if there is something there to be redeemed, or if he is beyond saving.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: slack your rope, hangman [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145420
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	yes I have come to see you hanging

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title taken from 'Hangman' by Peter, Paul and Mary, which is also where the series title is taken from. This is the first installation in a series of unconnected fics.
> 
> See endnotes for more warnings, which do contain spoilers. This work does not profess to contain any legal realism, and many parts are very inaccurate to real life, but I wanted to explore some ideas instead.

The steps towards the courthouse are crowded. Waves of people line both sides, pressing together in an effort to get as close to him as possible, stopped only by the line of black suited bodyguards blocking their way. There is a maelstrom of emotions in the air, but most of all, an undercurrent of morbid excitement runs through the crowd. The Asset has seen all kinds of people — faceless technicians scurrying about in the background with a clinical if sadistic efficiency, snivelling junior agents trying to put on a self-assured front to their superiors, the confident politicians who need no show of bravado to declare their authority — and he knows that today, he is a spectacle.

On the left is a group that is almost foaming at the mouth with vitriolic rage. They hold signs calling for his death and cursing his family. 

_“Murderer!” “Monster!”_

He wonders if he should tell them that they’ve gotten it wrong. He is a _machine_ , and he has no family.

The right is no better. It is filled with sobs, desperate, yearning hands reaching to deliver forgiveness or to earn it, like the crowds that once desperately clamoured around Christ trying to touch a glimpse of his holy garments thinking that that would grant them salvation. He is no Messiah, but he was sent to bring a sword, and true enough, he has cut through swathes of people who mean nothing to him. 

They scream for a “Sergeant Barnes”, but that is not the Asset, so he keeps his gaze straight ahead and marches up the stairs. Right in front of the gates, he sees in his periphery large, professional cameras angling to catch a view of his face, and right before he enters the doors, he hears a well-dressed man with a sombre expression speaking into a microphone.

_“This will be the trial of the century, and will capture the true spirit of America’s criminal justice system. Everyone will be looking at the man once known as Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, to see if there is something there to be redeemed or if he is beyond saving.”_

*****

Inside the courtroom, a large blonde man approaches him like a man dying of thirst crawls towards a mirage in the desert. His blue eyes are swimming with hope and relief and joy and guilt, but all of this is laden with a fear and sorrow that Asset has come to know well.

_“Bucky,”_ he chokes out. The Asset does nothing. He does not know who the man is or what he wants, but he has not been given any instructions, so he stands still and accepts the man’s hug. His body is not his own.

The grip is warm and tight and he can feel hot tears wetting the right shoulder of the suit he was given to wear. He has a feeling that the man would cling to him for an eternity if he could, but the judge bangs the gavel and calls everyone to take their seats. 

The Asset has his orders. Efficiently, he detaches himself from the embrace and turns towards his assigned seat. Before he can leave, something catches his hand.

“You’ll be okay Bucky. I’m here for you and I’m never leaving.”

The blonde man cups his face gently as he says the words. Those eyes stare resolutely at him, as if trying to convey years’ worth of words with the gaze. The Asset has not been taught to understand this form of communication so he turns away and sits in the chair. 

_“I call this court to order.”_

  
  


*****

  
  


The first man to stand up introduces himself as the defence attorney. His face matches the solemn mood of the room, but the Asset can see from the lines on his face that this is a man who likes smiling. He is dressed in a smart, nondescript suit and moves with the air of someone who knows and believes in what he is doing. All eyes are on him, but he speaks confidently.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered today to arbitrate on a number of issues of dire importance. The version of events is clear. The man sitting over there has undoubtedly committed countless heinous crimes, made serious moral and ethical violations of the sorts the world has never before seen. But the man sitting over there was once also Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, a man described to be of outstanding moral fibre by everyone who knew him, a great patriot who once gave his life in service of his country.”

The man pauses and surveys the room with a serious expression. 

“The version of events is clear. But the forces motivating and putting these events into place are not. You will be given several accounts of the actions leading up to today, and you will have to decide on a number of things. This is a trail about the Winter Soldier, yes, but it is also a trial about much more than that. What values this nation stands for. Our view about the structures and institutions of our country. This past year, we have been rocked by several unbelievable revelations about the insidious systems operating outside of the public consciousness, exposed in the recent failure of Project Insight.”

At the mention of the helicarriers, the room lights up with hushed murmurs. The man waits for silence again before continuing. 

“And so, I ask you all: Listen carefully and think even more. Put aside whatever preconceptions you may have and try to put yourselves into this man’s shoes. This is not a question of whether or not he committed those crimes. We know that he was guilty of them. What we don’t know yet, is whether or not he was _culpable.”_

The man moves surely from his stationary position and begins to walk slowly around the room.

“What we need to decide on instead is whether anyone, any reasonable person, any respectable American, who could very well have been someone you know, someone you love, or you yourselves, if anyone could have gone through what this man went through and done any different.”

He stops again and gives every single person in the room a meaningful stare. 

“We will be presented with two sides of this man that seem night and day next to each other. The loving son, a callous assassin; the loyal friend, an evil killer; the brave soldier, the greatest traitor. Look into your hearts and ask, _who is James Buchanan Barnes?_

  
  


*****

  
  


The next man to speak must be the prosecutor. 

This is the man that wants to send him to the gallows, but the Asset cannot find it in him to care. He has always known that after his usefulness expired that he would be decommissioned, so he is not afraid. This man also looks serious and speaks in a calm, measured tone, but there is a fire behind his words. This man is like everyone else that interacts with the Asset, and so he knows that this is a man who hates him.

“The defence’s argument today will be that Sergeant Barnes was not in control of his actions. That he was tortured and dehumanised to the extent that he had no autonomy left and knew nothing better than to follow HYDRA’s every command.”

The prosecutor’s words hang in the air, and the Asset cannot entirely find fault with them. A moment later, the man continues, a firm look in his steely eyes.

“I do not necessarily dispute this. Sergeant Barnes most certainly has been through a horrific ordeal. But we cannot rule out the possibility that he was acting under his own volition, that he genuinely was a traitorous psychopath acting in full concert with HYDRA. After all, as the defence has pointed out in his example of Project Insight, this would hardly be the first time that someone has turned out to be very different from what we thought they were, and fooled the American public, including Captain Rogers himself.”

The last sentence is said with a deprecating sense of mirth, and the Asset can see the blonde man’s fists curling in his lap.

“Either way, the decision we make will have grave consequences for the world. If we acquit Sergeant Barnes, believing that he was made into something not even human, we will be leaving a very broken creature with very little prospect for recovery, letting him live the rest of a very long, miserable life. Worse still, if we acquit him, _falsely_ believing him to have been acting under duress, we let loose an incredibly dangerous and sick killer onto our communities, free to roam the country and threaten our loved ones.”

He can see the blonde man barely masking his fury. Meanwhile, the Asset almost has to stop himself from nodding. Everything that this man is saying is true. He is dangerous and he is a killer and he has no hope for the future.

“It seems to me that whatever the case, the just thing to do would be to give this man the death penalty. If he is truly no better than a machine at this point, but one that can kill and slaughter with ease and without conscience, the safest thing would be to decommission it. If you came across a wounded animal in the street with no hope for recovery, the kindest thing would be to put it down. If your beloved pet was so sick that it could not move or eat by itself and found no joy in life, the merciful thing would be to euthanize it. And so, ladies and gentlemen, as you listen to the testimonies today, I want you to ask yourselves: what do you want your America to look like?”

  
  


*****

  
  


The first day passes in a flurry. The Asset zones out for most of it.

Both the prosecution and the defence had brought in a slew of medical professionals, throwing around phrases like “sustained damage to the frontal lobe” and “frequent electric shocks causing widespread neuron death”. He knows that their exchanges are about him, but decades of experimentation and treatments by enthusiastic scientists and technicians has desensitised him to medical discussions, so he goes to that distant place where he doesn’t need to think.

The proceedings take hours, but part of what makes him such a good sniper is his immense amount of patience. He sits quietly and lets the day end, after which he is hurried back into his cell. It has been a long day.

He sleeps.

  
  


*****

  
  


The second day starts much like the first. Hordes of screaming people shouting incomprehensible things at him, the weighted stare of the blonde man behind him, the cool, assured words of the leading lawyers.

Except this time, they ask the blonde man to speak.

The prosecutor starts. 

His questions are innocuous and the Asset sees no harm in answering them, but the blonde man scowls furiously throughout and his answers are short and clipped. The entire room can sense his hostility but the Asset doesn’t understand why. Questions about their history are irrelevant and any notions of the Asset’s character and desires are in the past. He no longer does anything without HYDRA’s direction.

Everything the blonde man says is in fierce defence of him, and the Asset _doesn’t understand why._ The charming young man with a stunning devotion to his family and even greater dedication to the men he served with is long gone, and the Asset has no recollection or memory of this man. The blonde man speaks of a loyal friend who would never have willingly done such evil things, and the Asset feels not even a whisper of identification with this figure. 

The entire time, the blonde man has done nothing but firmly rebuff every suggestion of wrongdoing made by the prosecutor, much to his poorly-veiled frustration. Finally, in exasperation, he asks, “Captain Rogers, you speak about this near perfect man who was the pinnacle of human goodness, and you insist that you knew Bucky Barnes inside and out. But you also worked alongside Brock Rumlow, Jack Rollins and other members of the STRIKE team who were later revealed to be HYDRA for _months_ and didn’t seem to suspect that anything was wrong. Could it be the case that once again, you were fooled by a man you once called ‘friend’? How do you know that you aren’t mistaken again?”

The blonde man leans forward in his seat with an intensity that makes the Asset shiver. His eyes are pure steel and he speaks resolutely.

“I spent the better part of my life by Bucky’s side. I’ve seen him at his very worst. Every little trinket he nicked from a corner store to give to me, I know. Every person he killed in the war, I know. As surely as I know myself, I know Bucky, and there is nothing in the world that can convince me that at his core, James Buchanan Barnes is anything other than _good_ , and it took seventy years of erasing him to bring him to this point.”

With that decisive statement, he sits back in his chair, making clear that he is done with this line of questioning. Wordlessly, the prosecution rests.

The whole time, the Asset could not tear his eyes away from the blonde man. The blonde man thinks that the Asset is someone other than who he really is, and even though he knows it is wrong, the Asset does not want to correct him. 

  
  


*****

  
  


When it changes to the defence’s turn, the blonde man visibly brightens. The air is immediately warmer and his body language more open.

The defence attorney asks a series of easy questions, inviting the blonde man to paint a picture of the Asset as a man.

The blonde man speaks earnestly and passionately about his childhood with a “Bucky Barnes”. About two boys reading worn, second-hand comic books on the fire escape. About cold nights spent huddled together for warmth in a too small Brooklyn apartment. About thrilling nights spent dancing happily with dames in dance halls, careless and free with the reckless abandon of naïve youthfulness.

These tales about back alley scuffles and working on the docks to buy little gifts for a “Becca” are not critical mission intel, but he finds himself listening intently anyway. Something about the stories draws him in. He is a machine so he did not have a childhood, but something in him wishes wistfully for him to be able to go to that simpler time, when money was tight but families were close and clothes had holes but could be mended with love, where he might have had the chance to be happy.

  
  


*****

  
  


He spends the entire time staring transfixed at the blonde man that he doesn’t realise when the questioning is over. His attention is only redirected when he hears the note of finality in the lawyer’s voice.

“Thank you Captain Rogers, you may step down from the stand.” Somewhat shakily, the blonde man makes his way back to his seat.

The defence attorney looks imploringly towards the crowd.

“We’ve heard about the character of Sergeant Barnes from the person that probably knows him best in the entire world. This leaves us a simple question. What are the odds that a man such as Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, a war hero, a devoted son, a fiercely loyal friend, a fact which Captain Rogers himself has testified to, would turn into a monster?”

He lets the question hang in the air. 

After a beat, he picks up again, voice soft and serious.

“Something terrible, something truly horrific, must have happened to him in order to make one of America’s bravest soldiers lose himself entirely, and become something the entire world would come to fear.”

With those words, he ends his speech. The judge says something about adjourning for lunch and the chatter in the crowd picks up, but the Asset’s ears are rushing with childhood conversations, imagined orders and screams of past.

  
  


*****

  
  


When the Asset finally comes back to himself, he is on the stand. The trial is moving on. 

Robotically, he follows all the instructions issued at him and he is sworn in. The defence attorney gives his shoulder a firm squeeze, and continues to present his case.

“Before lunch, we were confronted with the question of how such a good, or at the very least _normal_ , man could have become the world’s greatest terror. Thanks to HYDRA’s extensive records on their procedures and experiments, we know some of the things that were done to Sergeant Barnes. How exactly they managed to twist an American icon into something unrecognisable, a gun that didn’t know anything other than to fire where it was pointed at.”

The last sentence strikes him. At that moment, without anyone to point him at what to do, the Asset doesn’t know what to do either.

“Remember, Sergeant Barnes is no stranger to captivity or torture. During World War 1, he and his unit were taken captive by Nazi soldiers and experimented on. Even after that harrowing experience, he still took up arms and stayed by Captain America’s side as a part of the legendary Howling Commandos. So most certainly, this is not a man that would break easily.”

The lawyer punctuates his words with three quick steps towards the jury.

“Unfortunately, HYDRA had seventy years to twist this man’s soul, and the world owes Sergeant Barnes an apology for the unspeakable torment that was forced on him for the better part of a century.”

Quiet whispers break out at that notion. The defence attorney ignores them and continues on.

“Decades of beatings, mutilation, forced amputation, electric shocks to wipe his mind, dehumanisation, burnings, surgery without anesthesia, sleep and sensory deprivation, starvation, extreme physical training, non-consensual body modifications, sexual abuse, all kinds of horrific _torture…”_

With every description, the blonde man’s face grows paler. He looks as if someone is choking him even though the Asset’s hands are firmly in his lap. For a moment, he has the bizarre urge to shout for someone to _“get Stevie his inhaler!”_ but it is not his place to show concern for anyone or issue orders, so he tamps it down and continues to sit placidly. 

The list of punishments provided is woefully incomplete.

He doesn’t understand why they’ve instructed someone so unfamiliar with the protocol to give the report. If not for the fact that it is not his place to correct a superior, the Asset would jump up and give a complete explanation. How else will his new handlers know how to properly administer correction to the Asset?

The lawyer asks him a slew of questions that he answers blankly. He is not paying attention. He does not understand why there are people that feel sorry for him and why there needs to be a discussion on whether to put him down. Most of all, he doesn’t understand why he’s _feeling_ things.

His inner turmoil goes unnoticed. The entire court hangs onto every grim description. A large portable television screen is wheeled in, and the lawyer walks towards it, gesturing, as he speaks.

“Once again, the following images and videos are not for the faint of heart. They depict just a fraction of the cruel and heinous torture he was forced to undergo, and there are graphic scenes ahead. If you find that you may be uncomfortable with viewing any of these scenes, which is entirely understandable, I urge you to leave the room for this next segment.”

With a heavy and sombre mood, the handler turns to the large screen beside him which lights up with images of what must have been the Asset at the beginning of his training. The man’s eyes are wild, stringy hair stuck to his face with a mixture of sweat and blood, but worst of all is the gruesome stump of what used to be a left arm. 

It seems that his participation is no longer necessary, so he sits back in his seat and stares straight ahead blankly. 

The crowd reacts with muted horror, cut-off screams stopping in their throats but showing up in their eyes instead. From his position facing the room, he can’t see the screen himself, but from the particularly anguished tone of his scream, he can guess that it’s probably a clip from early on involving a bone saw and his mutilated stump of an arm. That was a particularly cutting sort of pain, and back then, he hadn’t yet learnt to get his reactions under control. He hadn’t understood that order comes from pain.

Judging by the disgust of the crowd, neither do they. Many have shied away from the screen, hiding their faces from the images and clutching on to the people next to them. Horrified gasps accompany every new scene and he hears the sounds of sobbing. His eyes drift lazily around the room before they go to one particular person in the audience. 

The blonde man is weeping. His shoulders are heaving with the effort of trying to suppress his tears, and his face is warped with despair. The Asset can see the anguish wrapped around the man’s heart and longs to go over and comfort him. He does not.

The response confuses him. He can understand being slightly squeamish at the sight of so many of his insides on the outside, or even certain civilians being uncomfortable with HYDRA’s more extreme forms of calibration, but such visceral disgust seems a bit excessive. Not to mention, the palpable grief of the blonde man.

The hurt, animal noises that come from the recording embarrass him slightly, because showing such weakness in the face of discomfort is unbecoming for an Asset of his caliber. He remembers faintly, in the way that an ache sometimes anchors itself to your bones in a phantom’s hold, that it had hurt. He had screamed and screamed and screamed, and it had only been a bit louder than the impartial whirring of the bone saw. The pain was sharp, piercing and shot straight through his bones. At once, it was like his flesh was being torn off and remade and like his spirit was trying to vacate his body. He had sobbed and cried out for Steve, for his mother, but no relief ever came. They hadn’t thought it necessary to sedate him, so the images all the blood and flesh that splattered off from the wound were imprinted in his mind even when he fell off into thankful unconsciousness, because they were carved into his eyelids.

Of course, hindsight would show him that this little operation was hardly the height of suffering, but at that point, it had probably been the most agonising experience in his rose-tinted life. He is grateful now for that memory, because it had shown him the world and let him see what he truly was: a tool, a weapon, _the fist of HYDRA._

Even when he was a soldier, cannon fodder for the war effort, he had never really known what it meant to be worthless. There would be no mercy, no kindness dispensed to him. There would be no desire, no want. There would be nothing without HYDRA. His value was only to the extent that he could serve HYDRA, carry out missions, be the one that shaped the century. 

When the videos stop, the room is completely silent and a sort of sickness hangs in the air.

The defence attorney switches off the video, and in a quiet voice, speaks.

“The defence rests.”

  
  


*****

  
  


After that video, even the vengeful prosecutor seems shaken. Still, he approaches the Asset calmly, if with a new sense of solemnity.

At the man’s urging, the Asset dispassionately recounts the missions that he can remember, leaving no detail out. As with any good mission report, he notes the number of victims, the method of elimination and the obstacles he faced. With each new account, he sees the sympathy on the faces of the crowd turn to revulsion.

Finally, the lawyer asks his last question with no small amount of contempt.

“Why did you do these things, Sergeant?”

The Asset answers honestly. “They told me to do it.”

The prosecutor’s lip curls in what might be disgust or pity. “Unfortunately, Sergeant, that excuse hasn’t been enough since the days of Nuremberg.”

The prosecution rests and the blonde man dips his head into his hands like he is praying or mourning. He does not know what for, but the Asset feels sorrow.

*****

  
  


The trial is over. The jury is deliberating.

In the room, heated discussions abound. He hears snippets of conversations —

_“Think about the children! I don’t want him out—”_

_“—tortured for seventy years! No one could be—”_

_“—cruel enough to slaughter innocent people like cattle—”_

_“—would be treated better than he was. He’s a hero—”_

— but he doesn’t particularly care. His fate has long been out of his hands.

The room quiets abruptly with the entrance of the jury. He isn’t sure how much time has passed. They could have been out there for 2 hours or 20.

An unremarkable man passes a slip of paper to the judge who reads it solemnly. 

Looking towards the jury, he addresses them. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we thank you for your service.”

With a heavy sigh, he turns back and faces the court. In a voice like thunder, he speaks.

_“On the charges of treason, murder, espionage, this court finds James Buchanan Barnes_ **_guilty_ ** _and sentences him to death.”_

The Asset sits quietly. The room erupts.

  
  
  
  


_I have not brought you home,_

_I have not bought your fee,_

_yes I have come to see you hanging._

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: given that this is a trial for the Winter Soldier, there will be graphic descriptions of torture and violence as mentioned in the tags. Additionally, this is not a happy fic, and ends on a depressing, if somewhat ambiguous note. It could end in a successful appeal, Steve breaking Bucky out of prison and fleeing to Wakanda, an execution or who knows! Court verdicts are not nearly as definite as they might seem and would probably have taken muuuuch longer so !
> 
> I have read many Winter Soldier Trial fics and I adore all of them because of the vehicle it provides to explore issues of justice and its interaction with public opinion. I personally hate sad endings and sometimes even click away when I know it doesn't end in an acquittal, but somehow, I decided to write this instead. Do I believe that this would be the outcome in real life? I'm not sure. I like to think not, because 'not guilty by reason of insanity' can be a powerful defence that has been used before. At the same time, I think that it is quite possible that fear, the desire for vengeance and the need to find a scapegoat could win out.
> 
> I also just want to point out how the problem of perspective really impacts our perception of the situation. I leave it open what exactly the motivations of the jurors were in passing their verdict; it could be that they honestly think he's evil and guilty, or a response of fear, erring on the side of caution; or one of mercy. I also didn't want to write a prosecutor that was entirely cruel and without empathy because while I heavily disagree with what he says, I do believe that there are some reasons why people might think one way or another that are more complex than them just being selfish and judgemental. Ultimately, I wonder if only they could see how incredibly damaged and twisted Bucky's thoughts are, if that would change anyone's mind, but alas, thus is the cross we all have to bear.
> 
> This work is heavily inspired by the atmosphere that the song 'Hangman' invokes, and I strongly, strongly recommend that you listen to it. It has such a haunting message that resonates heavily with me, and the first lines to be written were the last two. I just had this image of a bloodthirsty crowd crowing over their 'justice' and those three lines of the song that I picked out capture that sense of cruel, voyeuristic apathy. I think it also applies to Bucky's case very well, because he was 'rescued' and taken in from the cold only to be strung up as a martyr for society.
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts on this, and how this made you feel. This is a work that touches a bit more on real life, which makes me slightly nervous to post it. As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
